


He Just Followed Me Home

by phoenix089



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Apparently Sherlock, But that's only because Sherlock doesn't want to share John with anyone, But. When met with a puppy as cute as Gladstone who could blame him?, Four for you Mrs Hudson! You go Mrs Hudson!, John's heart is his alone, John's weakness might be that his heart is just too big sometimes, M/M, Mostly gen fic, Mrs Hudson comes to save the day though, You can always ignore the last couple of paragraphs if you want it kept that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix089/pseuds/phoenix089
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't MEAN to bring a puppy home. Not really. He did TRY to warn it against following him after all. But, it IS just a pup, and John can only fight against those big brown eyes for so long (Which is to say, he can't resist them at all)</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Just Followed Me Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NavyDream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NavyDream/gifts).



> A quick something I wrote for my darling, because she loves English Bulldogs, and Gladstone ♥♥

The very first time he saw the pup, John was rather impressed at how well trained the young animal was. Considering it wasn’t tied up with a lead, the puppy was waiting for its owner with a surprising amount of patience. John couldn’t help but smile as he passed by the dog, amused at the thought that the pup was already better trained than Sherlock.

When he walked back out of Tesco’s twenty minutes later, the English bulldog was still sitting there, and it looked up at John with pitiful big, brown eyes. For two seconds, John was incredibly tempted to go back in the store and get a nice, big bone to reward it for being so patient. But, was forced to race off in the next second when he received an impatient text message.

A few days later, John grumbled as he made his way to Tesco’s again. _How_ Sherlock had managed to contaminate the _entire_ contents of their fridge John didn’t know, but he was going to absolutely _strangle_ the man if he did it again. Experimenting or not, they’d been through this argument a thousand times already! And –

John’s thoughts were cut off as he rounded the corner, and realised the bulldog from the other day was sitting there patiently once more. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it, and he was equally unable to stop himself from crouching down in front of the small animal.

As he knelt there, the animal regarded John warily, clearly unsure of his intention. Its ears immediately perked up, and its tongue lolled out of its mouth as it began to pant happily though as John began scratching it behind the ear.

“If only I could train _him_ as well as your owner has trained you,” John sighed. The dog’s brow lifted at the words, and then it continued to pant happily as John kept scratching its ear, its eyes half closing at the sensation.

After another twenty seconds of mindlessly petting, John sighed softly and stood up. The puppy whined at the loss, and looked up at John with big, sad eyes, and drooping ears. What John _meant_ to tell it was that he was immune to such pouts – He lived with a grown man who behaved like a five year old, after all. What he said instead was, “Don’t be like that. Just stay here, and I’ll bring you out a treat, alright?”

The dog snorted in response, then laid down on the pavement and rested its head on its paws, its eyes still looking up at John as if it were saying _I’m being good see? Now bring me something yummy_. John could only laugh at the expression. He then spent five minutes looking at all the different dog treats, only to go get a bone from the butcher instead.

And, that was precisely what happened when John ran into the dog the next time. And the next time again - Greet the puppy, then buy it a treat.  It wasn’t until the fourth time John found the pup obediently sitting there – Until it noticed him and it came stumbling over on uncertain paws, its stub of a tail wagging madly as John knelt down to rub it’s side - that he realised it wasn’t wearing a collar.

Frowning as he paid for his groceries, John asked the girl behind the register, “That dog outside, it _does_ have an owner, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno,” The girl said with a shrug, and John scowled with frustration at the lack of an answer.

“But, surely you see someone come with it? Or leave with it?” he pressed, but the girl just gave him an _I don’t fucking know. Why are you asking me?_ look, as she handed him his bag.

Silently bristling at the girl’s obvious lack of care – And, _why_ is she working in Customer Service when she clearly has no people skills? - John’s attention was caught by the elder woman at the next counter as she asked, “Are you talking about Gladstone? The dog outside,” she added with a smile at John’s confused look.

“He does have an owner then?” John made a point to ignore the irrational disappointment in his gut.

The elderly woman adjusted her glasses with a smirk, and chuckled at the question as she gave a gentle shake of her head, “No, that’s just the name we’ve given him. It suits him though, doesn’t it?”

“Sure,” John hummed, chewing at his lip uncertainly. Then, with a shake of his  own head, he snapped himself out of his foolish thoughts, and thanked the woman for her help.

John frowned as the puppy looked up at him from where it sat the second he stepped back outside, the nub of its tail wagging expectantly.

“Is that what happens?” he asked the dog as he gave it another bone. “You lure people who pass you by in with your good behaviour, and that’s why you come? You have different people for different days?”

The dog didn’t even acknowledge the words, it simply kept gnawing on the bone with little excited growls slipping through its teeth. Sighing, John shook his head, gave the dog another quick pat, then made his way back home.

It wasn’t until he was half way back to 221B that John realised the people around him were cooing. With the inexplicable sense of a noose tightening around his neck, John turned to look over his shoulder, and was mildly alarmed when he saw the English Bulldog was standing behind him. Its entire rear end was shaking to and fro with the force of the happy wagging its tail was doing, and the bone was clenched in its teeth as it looked up at John.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” John told the pup. “You can’t come with _me_.”

It sat back on its haunches, looked up at John with its eyes wide, cocked its ears and whined the smallest amount.

“You don’t understand,” John sighed as he knelt down before the animal. The pup instantly clambered over to him and pressed its two front paws up onto his leg, head searching for a hand to scratch it. Before he’d even realised what he was doing, John was already rubbing its ears. “I’m doing you a _favour_. You can’t live with me – I live with a maniac. He’s brilliant, but a maniac nevertheless.”

The dog continued to look up at him and pant.

“No. Really. He’s insane. He brings toes and fingers home, to _experiment_ on – He’d experiment on _you_ if he had the opportunity.” It still just looked up at him, panting and allowing John to rub his neck.

“Fine,” John groaned and abruptly stood up, which earned him a displeased yelp. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you though,” he said, and continued to make his way to 221B, glancing behind his back every couple of steps he took. The puppy was still happily plodding along behind him, completely unaware of what it was getting itself into.

Once they got to the stairs of 221, John looked down at the pup – who had sat down at the bottom of the stairs, unable to climb them - and hesitated. But then, he thought about all the times that Sherlock had brought a severed head, or fingers, or feet, or that one torso home, and he felt a sudden rush of rebellion as he picked the dog up, and carried it into the building defiantly.

That rush of defiance faded with each step up to 221B that he took though. What was he thinking, bringing a puppy into a place where he’d be exposed to the brilliant madness that is Sherlock Holmes? He _would_ experiment on the pup, there was no doubt about that. And, their lives were so hectic, could John _really_ commit to looking after an animal? Even one as well behaved as this one seemed to be.

Before John could fully decide what he was going to do with the puppy, there was the call of “John?”, followed by footsteps, and John froze, frowning a little guiltily as Sherlock paused in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the animal in John’s hand.

Those grey-green eyes then slid up to meet John’s, and his eyebrow arched with unspoken disapproval. John’s eyes narrowed as he met that gaze and growled, “Oh piss off. You bring heads, and fingers, and toes, and all sorts of unnatural things into the house! You don’t get to give me that look when a puppy follows me home.”

"Followed you, or you brought it?” Sherlock asked, his nose wrinkling distastefully as he looked at the dog again. The puppy seemed to be returning Sherlock’s displeased stare, which would have made John laugh if he wasn’t feeling irrationally defensive.

“An English Bulldog?” Sherlock sneered, “If you were that _eager_ to adopt something, shouldn’t you have started with something that required less maintenance? … Like a fish.”

“Oh please, dealing with you requires more maintenance than a dog will,” John snapped back. If he didn’t know any better, John would have thought that Sherlock was jealous of the pup. Which was an absurd thought, really, but, it was the only thing that explained the way he was looking at the animal.

At the words, Sherlock’s gaze flicked back up to John’s, and his mouth curled into a deeper frown. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a voice came from the bottom of the stairs, and both men looked down at the speaker.

“Not another one boys,” Mrs Hudson sighed, a fond smile on her face as she looked up at the two men. Then, her lips parted with surprise as she saw the dog in John’s arms. “Oh John,” she breathed, and John realised he really ought to have checked with her before bringing a dog into the house – What if she was allergic? Or, what if she had a no pets policy? That really had been rather inconsiderate of him.

Before he could apologise though, Mrs Hudson had climbed the stairs, and was scratching the dog under its chin. The pup barked once, and wriggled in John’s arms, attempting to lick Mrs Hudson’s flour covered fingers, clearly pleased at having another fan.

“He’s _gorgeous_ ,” Mrs Hudson crooned, and John fought against the vindictive smirk he wanted to give Sherlock at the reaction. Sherlock made it exceedingly hard not to though, as snorted indignantly. “What’s his name?”

“Gladstone,” John announced with a grin, deciding the woman at Tesco had been right. The name _did_ suit the jubilant pup perfectly.

"Hello there Gladstone,” Mrs Hudson said, as she took the pup out of John’s arms and rubbed his belly. The dog’s back leg started twitching as she scratched a patch to the side with freckles, and its tongue lolled out of its mouth as it twisted to look at John, the very image of a content puppy.

“Ridiculous,” Sherlock muttered, before storming away. John and Mrs Hudson shared a wry grin as his retreat was followed by crashing and banging in the kitchen.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s much of a fan,” Mrs Hudson hummed, her lips curling into a bemused smile.

“Apparently not,” John sighed, and began chewing at his lower lip uncertainly. What was he going to do? He couldn’t very well kick Gladstone back outside, but neither did he think the pup would be particularly happy living with he and Sherlock. Especially since it was clear Sherlock wasn’t fond of the pup, for some stupid reason. Maybe Sherlock would simply pretend the puppy wasn’t there until John could find someone willing to adopt him? Though, looking at the happy dog in Mrs Hudson’s arms, he found himself hesitant to find a replacement family already.

He was drawn from his thoughts, though, as Mrs Hudson ventured, “John, I wonder if you’d mind if I kept him with _me?_ ” John’s eyes widened at the suggestion, and Mrs Hudson hurried to explain, “Just until he’s a bit older, dear. These steps are a bit big for him right now, after all. And, Sherlock wouldn’t have any patience for him – Not when he’s so little. But, I think if he was bigger and a bit more self sufficient he’d come-”

“No, no. That’s perfect Mrs Hudson,” John said breathlessly, relief flooding through him. “That’s just … Perfect.”

Mrs Hudson smiled at John warmly, and gave a half shrug with one shoulder as she admitted, “It gets a little lonely while you two are on your cases sometimes. He might be _just_ what I need.”

Suddenly, the shrill noises of an agitated violin rang out, and they both looked back up at 221B anxiously. John could only sigh at the sound, as Mrs Hudson giggled softly.

“You best go make up with him dear, you know how bad he gets when you leave him for too long.”

“S’pose,” John grumbled as he pet Gladstone, buying a little more time, “Something tells me you got the easy one this time around.”

They both flinched as another shrill note echoed from the violin, making Gladstone bark. Sherlock drew a shriller note from the violin in retaliation. John looked at Mrs Hudson pleadingly, but she simply threw him one last amused smile, before making her way back down the stairs, the new apartment pet in her arms.

Scowling, John shifted the bag of groceries so he could fold his arms, and made his way into 221B, doing his best to not flinch at the noises coming from the violin as he met Sherlock’s glare with an icy one of his own.

Sherlock stopped the violin’s caterwauling just long enough to hiss, “I am _not_ jealous of a dog.”

John could only roll his eyes, and mutter, “Could have fooled me,” as he made his way to the kitchen. He made as much of a point to ignore the mess on the table, as he did the violin. The violin stopped a few seconds later though, and John hadn’t even managed to pack away the groceries before there were hands at his hips and breath against his neck.

"Might be a little jealous,” Sherlock conceded.

“A little?” John repeated, arching an eyebrow as he allowed himself to be pushed back into the cabinet.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sherlock said petulantly. Smirking as he brought his hands up to twine together behind Sherlock’s neck, John was suddenly glad he’d had the forethought to put the cold things away first. If the look in Sherlock’s eye was any indication, he wouldn’t have been able to put them away for a good, long while otherwise.


End file.
